Theories
by ashhead
Summary: Theories on day 3. TonyMichelle. Jack in later chapters. Chapters 12 and 13 up
1. Tony

Played with this idea for a bit and not quite sure what i think about it but it was fun to write.  
Its Tony's after day 3 reflecting on things

He did what he did because he loved her. It was that simple. Except it wasn't. He'd run the situation through his head over and over, trying to make sense of it.  
His current theory, and it was only a current theory and was subject to change with both his pattern of thoughts and his mood, was that that was not the reason at all.  
He'd done what he did, not because he loved her, although that was a valid point, but because he couldn't bear to see her get hurt. That was not the same thing as loving her, nor was it the same thing as not wanting her to get hurt. He didn't want to see her get hurt. It was another thing entirely.  
If he'd loved her, he would not have been willing to let her get hurt, but he would have also listened to her. Her voice rang through its head in the same way as it had done every second of every day since he arrived here. A simple laugh, her annoyed sigh before she launched into an explanation of why it was important that he left his keys on the hook and not wherever it was he had left them in this particular instance, a stifled sob where eyes pressed tightly closed and jaw clenched had not been able to prevent it. She was with him constantly, even if she wasn't actually with him.  
He could hear her as she repeated what she'd been told over the phone, not a trace of fear in her voice. This was followed by her almost begging him not to do this. Anyone who knew her less well would think that this was motivated by fear, but he knew her, and he knew that she was prepared, more than prepared, to die. She had accepted that she was going to die, hell, she had had to accept it in the hotel, so it wasn't such a big leap to apply that to this situation. And yes, he knew full well that she was scared, but he knew that she wasn't about to let that show. He was the only one that she showed things like that to.  
But he hadn't listened. The person he loved more than anything in the world had begged him not to do this, not to let LA, and probably after that the entire world, go to hell just so that she could live. But he had ignored her, and this was the source of today's current theory.   
But the theories, they were based on something else entirely. His marriage, their marriage, had been hell. There was no secret there. 2 years of fighting to even be allowed to date had led to difficulties on a level that neither of them imagined. Peculiarities that should have been discovered much earlier on weren't discovered until after they were married. There outlook on the future was entirely different. She refused to have kids until they were both in jobs where dying wasn't a distinct possibility. He on the other hand, wanted a family as soon as he could get one, having watched the rest of his family move away with their lives, he desperately wanted to build himself a new one.  
That was why the job at Langley was so important, stable jobs meant a chance at a family, and being away from CTU would take them away from prying eyes that were waiting for them to fail.  
Then there was the matter of the lies. He had lied to her 78 times, counting each one of them and praying it would be the last. And although she hadn't known, it had put a distance between them, her aware that something was wrong, and him not quite being able to meet her eyes knowing that he was lying to her.  
And yes he loved her, but something inside himself questioned whether he had done the right thing, and so he created theories to explain his actions, anything really to try and explain what he had done, to try and wash away the guilt that swallowed him.  
At last he heard the rustle of keys approaching, breaking the soft echo of her breathing that surrounded him. This was it, this was his chance. He brushed his fingers across his cheek, unshaven for days. He knew publicly she'd disapprove, but he also knew that in reality she loved the way his stubble felt against his face. Not that she be able to touch him, they had nice glass walls to prevent that.  
He tried a smile out in the mirror, anything to cover up the hollowness in his face and the dark pits in his eyes from nights of sleeplessness caused by her agonised screams as the knife blade entered her flesh. This had never happened, and yet he knew every movement the knife made and her every feeling as the cold metal penetrated her eye.  
The smile was not enough to cover this up, but it was a start and he knew she'd appreciate the effort. And more than anything he needed her to appreciate what he had done, understand, forgive, anything really. Because he couldn't keep going on like this. And after all, he really did love her.


	2. Michelle

This wouldn't work at all- so I would appreciate any feedback you could give me. Its the same thing but from Michelle. oh and i don't have a clue what formatting is, so sorry if its screwed up.

She felt sick, really sick. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, not even close. She'd never been into fairytales, preferring to believe that life would offer a more interesting story, but right now, she'd give anything to be in a fairytale. The princess marries her prince and they ride off into the sunset to live happily ever after. She'd give anything for that.

Instead, here she was, hiding in the bathroom of a federal prison, waiting to see her husband. Her body was pressed against the sink; she was unsure if she would be able to support herself without it. She'd waited so long for this, and at the same time had dreaded it.

Having to face him, getting to see him again, but having to look him in the eyes, knowing that it was her fault that he was there. She should never have gone into the hotel, she knew it was against protocol, but somehow it had seemed important. Ridiculous really, they didn't stop the virus being released and all those people had still died.

Better yet, she should have made him stay at the hospital, he had a bloody hole in his neck for God's sake. Or even better, she should never have married him in the first place.

She didn't mean that, not really, and yet on some level she did. If she had never married him, if they had never become close, he wouldn't have given a damn if she was captured at all. If she had been able to control herself back on the day of the bomb, she wouldn't have to go home to a house filled with memories, and yet empty of everything, of anything, of him.

Catching her reflection in the mirror, she started to frantically redo her hair. Not for any reason, just because it was something to do. Her fingers worked across her hair, pulling it back but leaving the single curl loose for him. Which was stupid, really. She was going to see him through a glass wall, she wasn't going to be able to touch him. But it didn't matter. The idea of his finger wrapping itself in her curl was enough.

Looking in the mirror again, she sighed. The make up she usually buried herself in to cover up the nights of sleeplessness was gone. She couldn't bear him to see her like that. Instead, her face was pale and her eyes were hollow. She hated that he would see her like this, but it was who she had become, and she needed his reaction to her

Finally, she pulled herself up, her breath heavy with the tears that she refused to let escape, had refused to let escape since he had been taken away.

Glancing back one last time, she forced that same smile onto her face that she had been wearing for the last couple of months. She was still Michelle Dessler. He had done this for her, it was the least she could do to go in there and face him.

Walking back out, she sat herself down, waiting for them to bring him to her, her fingers finding the divorce papers hidden in the bottom of her bag, the happy smile frozen onto her face as silent tears poured inside of her.


	3. Tony

_OK- these chapters are going to be really short because of the perspective changes- but hopefully that means I can post quite often._

_S.O.S1- they will be together- eventually. I've read a few stories where he asks her for a divorce cos he's going to spend the rest of his life in prison, so I thought it would be fun to play with the idea that she asked him for a divorce. But it will have a happy ending (not quite sure how yet, but it will)_

_Ashleigh (still can't get used to that)- Sorry. And I didn't promise not to write sad ones, just ones were I killed or tortured Michelle. I will make it happy- promise._

She didn't raise her eyes, her face was focused on some indeterminable point on the floor as she approached me, her fingers grasping through her bag. For an instant, I wondered if this was a good idea. Maybe if I just got up now, turned around, I could save myself from whatever it was that she was afraid to face me for.

But then I saw her brush that single lock of hair out of her face, deliberately left out for my fingers. I settled myself into the chair, again trying out the smile that felt so very odd on my face.

It wasn't until she got close to me that she allowed herself to look at me, her eyes darting up, almost afraid of what she might see. A tear escaped her to join the others that had already fallen, and forgetting where I was, I reached out to catch it. My fingers found the cold glass that separated us, and not quite sure what to do, I left them there.

She regarded me, her face completely unreadable in a way it never used to be. Another tear, I wondered how many she had spilt since then, but this one she caught. Her fingers hesitated in front of the glass, but taking a stifled breath she forced them onto the glass. She smeared the moisture from her tears across it as her fingers fell down to her sides. The smile which appeared on her face looked as out of place as mine had done earlier, as if it was something that she had not done in a long while.

And looking at her face, that was probably true. Her eyes were filled with a weariness I hadn't seen in her, whereas before they had sparkled, now they were just completely devoid of any emotion whatsoever. There was a sense of pain in her countenance that just tore at me.

"Michelle," her name escaped my lips as a whisper, and was greeted by a very false smile.

"Tony, I..." There was an almost business-like air about her. I interrupted before she could continue, refusing to allow her to continue with whatever it was that she was going to say.

"Michelle... I am so sorry." Her head fell, another tear escaped her, and again my fingers were surprised when they met with cold, hard glass instead of being able to twist themselves through the stray lock of hair that traced her face.


	4. Michelle

_I finally got around to updating. More sadness I'm afraid, but oh well. It is going to be happy at some point. _

_Kitajaye- Yep it made sense and hopefully I did it in this chapter_

_Ashleigh- You got my attempt at a sweet story, no more of those for a while- just want to see if I can make this one happy._

_S.O.S1- Thanks_

What was he sorry for? He saved me. Because I was stupid enough to get caught in the first place, he's sat there, on the other side of a glass wall, the same wall that he's going to spend the rest of his life behind. And it's my fault. So what is he sorry for?

I can feel tears beginning to escape me. I'm usually pretty good at keeping them back, but then again, I never had any self control around him. My eyes want to rush up to his, to tell him that he's being stupid, that he hasn't done anything wrong. But I keep them focused on the floor, where they can't betray what I'm about to do.

What am I supposed to tell him, how am I supposed to explain. The divorce papers I had before any of this even started. I didn't want it to be like this, neither of us did, it was just so hard. How am I supposed to tell him that I'm giving up on him.

I finally look up, his fingers are still trapped against the glass as his eyes are brimming with tears. I know it won't be long before they spill. I'd forgotten the strange gnawing pain that watching him cry brought. Normally we're both pretty controlled, but sometimes, what else can you do? And his tears hurt me far more than mine ever could.  
And these tears, these tears are my doing. I'm doing this to him. How long will it be until I turn around and leave him here, alone? The tears that fall then, they'll be my fault as well. All of this is my fault. But how am I supposed to undo it. I can't spend the rest of my life tied to a memory, something that doesn't exist. Even now, after barely a month in prison, he's already different. There's a hollowness in his eyes that wasn't there before, a pain that he's drowning in, and I know I can't save him. It's easier if I just let go, it wouldn't be fair on either of us for me to keep coming here, to keep pretending. If I let him go now, neither of us will have to spend the next god knows how many yeas pretending that we're ok, that this doesn't hurt like hell. We can move on, I have to move on, I can't keep living this charade, its hurts too much.

Suddenly I can't do this any more, I can't draw this out any further, its already gone on for too long, I just need leave. "I'm sorry," my voice is hard, empty of the frantic waves of despair that are shooting through me, creating the impression that I don't care. Something inside of me recognises that this is the impression that I need to create, but mainly I just feel horrible. He'll think that this is easy for me that I don't care.

The papers are on the table in front of me, my fingers want to cover them up but I clench them in my lap, teeth close to drawing blood as they sink further into my lip. His eyes flicker with understanding. He knows what this, what I'm doing. The tears that had been welling in his eyes spill, but I know he's oblivious to them, his focus is on the piece of paper I've placed between us.  
Eventually he realises that I'm still there. His eyes flutter up to mine, thick with a pain that tears me up, and for an instant I can't breathe. His fingers wander across his unshaven face as he tries to compose himself enough to speak.

When he does his voice is hoarse, wracked with emotion; I know he's trying to keep it level, but pain pours from it. "I'm so sorry Michelle. I understand..."

Was that just it, was that all he was going to say? Where were the protestations, the insistence that I at least wait until after he's been sentenced? Was he not going to say anything? I'd hoped he'd be like this, that he'd understand, but now I just want him to react; to say something, anything.

He rose, jolted movements indicating that I should give the papers to one of the guards. "I'll get them to you." His eyes avoided mine as he walked away, even his walk had changed, he was subservient, the confidence that used to echo about him gone.  
I rose with him, my fingers reaching towards him this time, but stopping before they hit the glass. I was going to let him go, to let him move on. That was the point of this. I could taste the bitter warmth of the blood in my mouth from where my teeth had penetrated my flesh, but the pain this caused was lost in the agony that coursed through me as I watched my husband being led away.

As if sensing my thoughts, he turned to face me. But instead of the declaration that I expected, the anguished, desperate attempt to change my mind, he smiled. That smile said so much, and I realised that he did understand, that he would do this for me, that he would do anything for me. It wasn't him that the fault lied with, it was me who was holding on, not him.  
"Have a nice life Michelle." I knew what he meant. Have the life that he could never give me, even if he wasn't in jail. A pretty house in some nowhere town with a bunch of kids and a nothing life. Enjoyable, but meaningless. The type of life that I'd never wanted.

I wanted to run to him, to tell him that I would wait for him, that I would be here when he came out, even if it took the rest of my life. That I wouldn't let go, that I loved him.  
But I didn't. Instead I stood rooted to the spot as he left, unable to move. After all, wasn't this what I wanted?


	5. Greg

_Thanks for the reviews- this has sort of got some fluffiness in it, although not the type you want. Sorry for upsetting you. _

_OK- so I thought I'd try something different for this chapter. Please don't shoot me for this. And let me know what you think_

_Greg is the new director of CTU. _

_And yes- I do this just to torture you_

Michelle's fingernails rapped lightly against the black desk that had once been her husbands. The thing she hated most about this place, even more than the fact that it was the reason he was gone, was the fact that everyone and everything here had memories of him tied to them.

Greg watched her, unsure of quite how to proceed. He had her job, they both knew it, and he was never quite comfortable with her. She was the more competent of the two of them, and the staff relied wholly on her. He wasn't sure why he had been given this position. She should have had it, and despite his efforts to speak to her about it, she remained distant from him.

He hadn't understood why until earlier this morning, he guessed he should have read her profile more carefully, but he had been so annoyed about being forced here that he hadn't bothered. Now she stood in front of him, eyes very careful not to focus on any one point of the office that had once been her husband's, with a faint look of annoyance on her face.

Uncertain of the best way to broach the subject, his voice faltered as he tried. "Michelle, I'm sorry...I didn't realise." Empty words, they meant nothing, and he didn't know how to convey to her that he really was sorry.

She didn't understand what he was talking about, or rather she did, but didn't want to believe that he would have called her in to discuss this, so her eyes remained blank as she stared at nothing in particular.

He sighed, she wasn't going to make this easy. "I found this in the drawer today. I didn't realise that he was your..." He trailed off as her fingers lightly traced the wedding band that somehow she hadn't managed to take off yet. He handed her the photo.

Surprise bit into her, she thought she was immune to feeling like this, but she still had to remind herself to breathe as her fingers wrapped themselves around the photo. They had agreed to keep things like this out of the office, she wasn't sure why, he just felt that it would be better. She'd just said yes, too tired of arguing with him to disagree. But there it was, and looking at it she could still feel his fingers clasping her tightly as the cold sent shivers through her that the ridiculously inappropriate wedding dress was unable to prevent.

Her eyes met with his, filled with emotion as the wall she didn't realise she'd built crumbled just slightly. "How long has it been," she motioned to his ring and he understood what she was getting at. She had obviously done her research a lot more thoroughly than he had.  
Seeing pain in his eyes, Michelle blundered on, her eyes dancing wildly as she fought to maintain her composure. "I'm sorry. I know it's hardly the same...it's just..." She knew what it was, just as well as he did.

He'd read Tony's file, he just didn't realise that Michelle was his wife. Their names were different, and he'd presumed that whoever it was wouldn't have wanted to stay in the office that had pronounced her husband as a traitor. He figured that they would have run, and looking at Michelle now, he could understand the coldness and distance she surrounded herself with. She really was as strong as she seemed, if not stronger. Once again he wondered at that, finding himself in complete awe her.

Somehow, he found the strength to answer her. "He's looking at 20 years minimum right?" Michelle nodded, feeling sick. Her husband was going to spend the rest of his life in prison because of her, and she'd just asked him for a divorce.

"Then it is the same thing." He looked at her, knowing that it was in fact worse than the fate that had befallen his wife. Although he could no longer see her, at least he knew that nothing could ever hurt her again, that she was safe from the pain that was tearing at Michelle. He swallowed, surprised at the wetness he felt growing in his eyes. "Three years..." Fingers automatically went to his wedding ring, he ought to have taken it off by now, just hadn't been able to. He didn't want to let go, didn't want to move on.

Guilt consumed Michelle. She couldn't do anything right. Seeing Greg's pain for his dead wife was horrible, she'd done that to him. And the stupid thing was that she thought this might help, that she might understand herself better. All she had done was make things worse. Tony was still locked beyond her reach, she'd still abandoned him, and now she'd forced this man to relive his pain just so she could justify her own decisions.

Tears formed in her eyes, but she refused to let them spill, not here. Nevertheless, Greg caught her pain, and more out of a sense of duty than desire, he pressed her small frame against hers, taking reassurance from her resistance.

Somehow his fingers caught in her hair, catching him in memories. "You hair," he murmured, gently working his fingers out of the curls they were caught in, "It's the same as hers." He was lost for a moment in the soft warmth that reminded him so much of his wife. Then he caught her eyes, thick with fear. Quickly backing off and uttering apologies, he sat himself back down in the seat that had once been Tony's.

She smiled at him, he'd not seen her smile before and it was dazzling. "It's easy to get lost in memories." Too easy. Muttering something unintelligible she disappeared out of the door.


	6. Jack

_Just failed my driving test so be nice and review._

_Its horrible, there's too much dialogue and I don't really care._

"I thought you were better than this Michelle," Jack caught her as she left Greg's office, the anger which had been burning in him since the evening before burning through his eyes and causing him to put more pressure on her arm than was required.

She ripped herself from his grip, refusing to give the pleasure of releasing the cry of the sudden pain he'd created. Her eyes burnt as much as his did. She'd never liked him, respected him maybe, but resented the hold he'd had over her husband.

"What the hell are you talking about Jack?"

Without seeming like she was afraid, or that she was backing away from him, she managed to manoeuvre some distance between them. He was unstable and she sure as hell didn't trust him not to do something stupid, even here.

"You seemed cosy," his eyes flicking up to Greg's office. She followed them, disgusted by the conclusions he'd drawn. Surely he knew her better than that. Even with Tony, never in his office, never where they could be seen. And certainly not with Greg.

Not allowing her to interrupt, he shoved an envelope at her. "I hope these make you happy Michelle." Then, glancing once again at Greg's office, "You're playing dangerous games."

She knew what he meant. She'd had it before. Suspicion following her, anger at what she was doing. In their eyes she was sleeping with the boss, the comparisons were too obvious not to be drawn. It had taken a lot to undo that.

Jack watched her as she undid the envelope. He had trusted her, respected her. She was the very best at what she did and he had relied on her. He had felt so guilty for pulling Tony away from her, he saw the damage he was doing to them, it was just that some things were more important. Besides, Tony was going for a promotion, a job that would take them away from this. So it was only going to be for a little while, then they could have their lives back. It had seemed worth it.

He had felt like hell when that went wrong, along with everything else that he touched that day. That was why he'd been visiting Tony, to make sure that at least he was ok. That was how he had ended up with the papers.

Her eyes were fixed on his handwriting, his usual illegible scrawl on the bottom of the top page. He'd done it, just like that. And he'd given them to Jack.

"I hope they make you happy Michelle, because you destroyed him." Jack's voice was dripping with disgust.

"What did you expect me to do Jack, stay married to him whilst he spends the rest of his life in jail. You know he was going to ask me for this, I couldn't let him. I don't want any of this Jack. I want him back, but I'm not going to get that and you know it." Fingers had unconsciously wrapped themselves around her wedding ring as both the emotion and strength in her voice rose.

Then looking at him, seeing an opening, she continued. "I got those papers two months ago." Recognition of the importance of that flooded through him. Two months ago. A month before Tony was arrested, and the same time as he had ripped him away from her, telling himself that they would work it out.

"I'm not playing games Jack. I just need to move on."


	7. Michelle

_Apologies for the amount of time its taken to update- mixture of laziness, busyness and being fairly stuck. This is miserable- be warned- but I should only have to do 3 more miserable chapters- I think- before it can be happy._

_Thanks Kita- I kinda found it odd that they hadn't discussed her not getting the job, especially since he had to give his response to his job as well. Maybe that's me reading too much into it- but I kinda thought it would be fun to play with the idea that their marriage wasn't so great. But don't worry- its gonna have a happy reunited ending._

_S.O.S1- no fluff here- not yet anywhos- but soon hopefully._

_Ashleigh- you're not slow- I haven't figured it out yet- I imagine I'll get around to it eventually. More sadness- its about all I can write- not any good at the happy stuff_

She'd never quite understood before, how tears could be bitter. They were tears- an outlet of misery and pain, how could they be anything but bitter. But the aching stream that poured from her, burning her face before they soaked noiselessly into his pillow, taken from their bedroom for the memories it held; these were bitter tears, an agony that she knew was her fault, but couldn't help drowning in.

Soft dark eyes that lit up when he saw her, the soft whisper of his voice against the back of her neck in a briefing that made her bite her lip, fingers that would press themselves into her when she wasn't paying attention, catching her out every time. They were memories that she didn't deserve to have, and yet they were all she could see. Memories overanalysed so that she knew every intake of breath, not willing to sacrifice a single instant.

Jack had been right, well he hadn't been, not about Greg. But he'd been right about her, she was playing dangerous games. She knew what she was doing. Somehow she'd manipulated the situation so that she was the victim. Tony had been the one who had done the wrong thing, and she was the one who had to pay the price. The pity in their eyes confirmed this, fading to disdain as their hushed voices discussed his probable fate. He would go to prison, deservedly so, and she'd have to spend the rest of her life alone. So she was the one who needed to be pitied.

She wished they could see, she was the one who had done wrong. She was the one who had been captured, she was the one who hadn't been able to prevent him from choosing her over his duty, she was the reason all of this was happening. She was even the reason why there was a brown envelope roughly crushed in a tray in the kitchen, his kitchen.

She hated their pity more than anything, she thought herself hardened to it, but the anger in Jack's eyes, his furious whisper as his fingers bit into her arm, told her how much she had been depending on it. She wanted them to see her as the victim, that Tony was the one who had done wrong.

Because she knows that it wasn't like that at all. She was the one who had been wrong, and Tony was being punished for trying to pick up the pieces for her mistake. And even though some sane part of herself whispers that she couldn't have done anything differently, wouldn't do anything differently even if she could, all she can see is her gaping failure that has put her husband in a little cell, so close but forever behind that stupid glass wall.

So the tears, bitter tears, fall in a way that she had refused to let them ever since they took him away. He was gone, she was never going to be able to get him back; she didn't need to wait for his sentencing for that, the pity she saw everywhere she went confirmed that. And even if she could, he wouldn't want her back. Not after this, not after everything she put him through. It was just easier this way.

She pushes her body closer to the pillow, inhaling his scent and the memories that go with it, refusing to let herself think of the envelope in the kitchen waiting for her signature to settle her future, separate from his, and instead delving deeper into memories she's gone over too many times, wishing desperately that she had more.


	8. Michelle and Jack

_Ok- either this will work or it won't at all. I'm not sure which- but if I've done it wrong it will be awful.** Please **review. I'm not sure whether or not to continue- this part was really hard._

_Thanks_

"Michelle..." Awkward pause, what was he supposed to say? I'm sorry you're divorcing your husband because of me? Was that even a logical line of thought? Probably not. Fingers itch to rub at his arm, knowing what's concealed under the shirt.

Her breathing is annoyed, her pose irritated, a defensive glare in her eyes, she's ready for a fight. Hardly surprising, he accused her with having an affair with her boss; interesting thought- so many memories tied to that that he loses focus for an instant. Hatred, anger, pain, all of it there again, hollow eyes fixed upon him, empty, the metal of his gun strangely warm in his hands, a surprising contrast to the coldness creeping inside of him. She was empty, had been before he shot her, had been for as long as he'd known her, even when he was sleeping with her.

And her eyes weren't so different from Michelle's, empty, angry, painful. But somehow Michelle's evoke more emotion from him than Nina's ever did, the aura of vulnerability that she unknowingly exudes provoking a response greater than he had expected.

Not that it was possible for her to evoke less of a response than Nina did, he refused to let himself feel anything where she was concerned, that was far too dangerous, too many conflicting emotions.

She's still standing there, he realises that he ought to say something, his mind is blank of the thoughts that had called him to call her name, his throat sucked dry.

"I'm sorry- about yesterday. I was wrong, I'm sorry." His voice sounded strong, hard, it was Jack Bauer's voice. He just wasn't sure where it came from, how he was still able to maintain those same tones in a level voice that was anything but what he felt.

Nothing, no response, same anger in her eyes, same irritation in her pose. Why won't they just let her forget, even for an instant. She doesn't need to be reminded of it every 2 seconds, she knows what she's done.

They stand there for a second, locked inside the unenviable pain they both have. He's the one who breaks the stand off, forcing eye contact, forcing himself to look into her pain, somehow missing the fact that there was an equal amount of pain mirrored in his own eyes.

She sees this and softens slightly, anger melting- leaving her with just the numbing pain and exhaustion.

"Why? I don't understand why. It wasn't that bad." Surely it can't have been that bad.

His last comment was lost on her, something in his stance catching her attention. The way her held his head, the fact that he held one arm slightly behind him, as if attempting to hide it, the way he curled his fingers, as if holding them back.

Her mind knew what this meant, and although she knew she ought to feel something, she didn't. It was as if she was incapable of feeling anything else.

Her fingers, quicker than her mind, rested themselves upon his arm, right on top of where she knew a puncture mark was hidden under a sleeve. The warmth of his skin through the thin shirt surprised her. She hadn't felt that since Tony, since he had his arms wrapped about her, telling her that this didn't matter, that none of this mattered, that she was safe, that that was all that mattered. Guilt, fresh waves of it enveloped her. If that was all that mattered, why wasn't she still with him, why were her fingers grasping at Jack, sinking in his warmth rather than that of her husband?

He flinched, her touch was gentle, but he wasn't sure what she was doing, that was until her fingers settled, finding the slightly swollen place on his arm where a needle had spent a short amount of time imbedded in him, breaking the 2 months of being clean, bringing back the nothingness that he needed.

Neither of them said anything- neither of them could. Frozen in himself, icy fear tracing his spine in a way it never had before. She suddenly had a power over him that he hadn't experienced before. She could destroy him.

His daughter was sat in the next room, his boss upstairs, Michelle knew everyone and everything in his life that was important to him, not that there was a lot left, but her intuition had somehow found the one thing that could destroy him.

He cocked his head at her, waiting for her response, not betraying his fear. She didn't respond, eyes lost somewhere beyond him as she considered the incredible way that life had of destroying everything that you worked so hard to build up.

Voice level, despite the pain, eyes unfocused, not aiming her comment at anyone in particular, seduced by the thought she voiced. "It wouldn't hurt. You'd just close your eyes and they'd be gone." Fingers traced her temple, pushing back the images she'd been haunted by since the night she went home and realised what had happened.

Then, levelling her eyes on Jack, but still devoid of any clarity, she whispered, "I shot a man. In the back. His wife...I...I killed him. All those people...Gael...I gave cyanide pills to children. How can I ever make up for that? And Tony? What am I supposed to do? It doesn't make sense any more. I don't know which way is up, I don't even know if there is an up any more. And I can hear them. I killed them, but they're still here."

She was crumbling, her grip on his arm fierce even as she fell apart. He understood. There hadn't been anything to trigger this, but then there didn't need to be. She was already so far gone, realising what he had done had just cracked her.

Still mesmerised by the idea of the nothingness Jack had spent the previous night hiding in, she didn't move, no tears, no shallowness of breathing, just emotion pouring from her that she couldn't even begin to deal with.

She was in his arms before she even realised that she was still there, that she had said those things to him. He held her tightly, but she didn't respond, alien in his arms. This wasn't her life, surely this couldn't be her life.

"I just...I need him Jack. I can't do this. Why isn't he here? I can't..." Breathe. Simple, just breathe. "I'm never getting him back. Twenty years-minimum. I can't... I just can't."

What could he say. She couldn't, neither could he. "I know." He did, that was why it hurt so much.

He let her go, turned, left. He couldn't be here any more. This place was destroying him. He'd spent last night high, too afraid to face tomorrow without it. He just couldn't. Just like her.


	9. Jack and Tony

_Bluenose- yep i guess its just me and you on that front. I will eventually get around to writing a proper one- eventually. Have you done any that I can see??  
__Kezz- this is gonna be the last chapter about Jack- he's gone after this- but I needed him so he could say what he says in this chapter  
__Kita- Thanks- I'm paranoid sometimes about my writing- quite often I think I've missed the point entirely  
__Anyway- next chapter- took longer than I'd like cos I didn't want to write it. Hopefully I should have a new one up soon too. Please review- will be much appreciated._

One more thing, that was all he had to do. Exhaustion of a new kind gripped at him. He was used to the mental exhaustion, its clawing hold on him was rarely gone. The physical exhaustion was nothing new to him either. But this, this he didn't understand. An aching numbness, painful even to breathe. But a pain that he couldn't feel, was able to identify, but couldn't react to.

His arm itched, his body called for him to repeat last night, needing the boost that only the heroin could provide any more. His mind was lost somewhere that he wasn't even sure existed. And although he was aware that he was still there, still putting one foot in front of the other, still drawing the stubborn breaths of air, he wasn't sure how he could still be alive.

These memories vaguely rang with recognition, the death of his wife had had a similar effect, a similar gnawing pain. But at least then he had been able to feel, an agony of guilt and pain, loneliness and hatred. Now there was nothing.

He wasn't sure if the drugs had burnt the ability to feel from him, or if he simply had nothing left to feel anything for. His daughter was still there, but the distance between them was a gulf that widened with every breath he took. She had a new life, a hard life, no time for worrying about things she couldn't comprehend, and his drug use was certainly something that she didn't comprehend.

Friends were an odd concept for him, never forming the bonds of friendship that tied people together, never being able to trust enough to get that far. Tony was a friend, of sorts, and Michelle could even be considered in that category. But he didn't know either of them, and they certainly didn't know him, although Michelle's ability to see through him earlier with a perceptiveness he had never seen before shocked a respect for her out of him, an attachment he clung to. Her pain was like his, and although he couldn't quite comprehend it, he guessed you needed to actually care about yourself before you could bring yourself to care for anyone else, he recognised it, seeing it as a common bond that he shared with nothing and no one else. That was why he was here now, that was why he hadn't run, yet. He needed to do this, if for nothing else, then at least to confirm that he was still alive, that there was still a point.

So ignoring the craving that was so desperately crawling inside of him, he kept going, one foot in front of the other. That was all it took. The craving, he would see to that later.

Jack registered the shock in Tony's demeanour with a small start of surprise. The man he knew, who even in the few months that had passed, had been considerably larger, both in actual size, having lost a large amount of the muscle tone necessary to maintain his position, and in air. Tony's presence, the one that made him so good for the office he had dominated, was all but gone. But that was not what surprised Jack. Instead it was the way his emotions played out for all to see. Tony had always been guarded, keeping layers where no one could find them. Eyes blank regardless of the situation. Jack had never seen an actual response from him unless Michelle was involved, and even then he had been able to lie to her for an entire month, her not suspecting anything.

Whereas with most men he knew, prison created a strong façade behind which everything could be hidden, Tony was no longer even able to maintain the façade he had put up at work. Tony was, if possible, almost as much as a mess as Michelle had been.

Registering the aching eyes, hollow with nights of painful sleeplessness and days of drawn out agony, Jack felt reassurance in knowing that the man before him understood the very pain that was consuming him.

Silence dominated, broken only by the footsteps of the guard, hushed as the magnitude of the situation he didn't quite understand nevertheless resonated with him, and those same stubborn breaths uttered into air that was slightly colder than was comfortable.

Eyes, Jack's blank, a reflection of himself in so many ways; Tony's not moving from the broken tile that suddenly captivated him. The eventual discomfort of their proximity to each other, pain the other felt acutely resonating from both of them, caused Jack to break the silence, feeling almost guilty as he did.

"They told me, about your plea. Why?" Voice level, no betrayal of the turmoil and desperation within himself.

"Why not?" A wry smile appearing as his answer amused him more than it did Jack. This was pointless, it was done, nothing made a difference anymore. His life had had so much purpose to it, so much to live for. He had loved it, it had been hard but more than anything he missed the challenge it had presented, his minding calling for a relief from this imposed period of sedentary numbness.

But catching Jack's irritation, his powers of perception not yet completely eroded by the length of inaction he had had to endure, he continued. "I'm not going to say that I'm not guilty, Jack. I am. I know that, I knew it even then." More quietly, more to the ghosts within himself than to the shadow of the man he once knew hovering in front of him, "I won't let her hear me say that."

"Tony, the penalty for treason if you plead guilty is death. You know that." His head nodded, no emotion, there was no more. Jack's whisper was filled with something he no longer had the strength to recognise, the strange pressure in his head associated with the tears forming behind his eyes a million miles beyond anything he was able to feel. "She doesn't believe you're guilty."

Tony's head snapped up, eyes casting themselves from the broken tile on the floor laced with a dull brown caking of dry blood, to Jack Bauer, seeing immediately the void in him, but not comprehending it as his mind begged him for any details of Michelle that he might be able to glean. "What?" Voice surprisingly level, maybe there was still some control left in him.

Jack said nothing, leaving him to work it out for himself. Tony's mind fell into overdrive. "But she thinks I'm guilty, she asked me for a divorce, she thinks I'm guilty, she has to."

"Why do you think she asked you for a divorce Tony? Did you not see her? She's falling apart so quickly that I'm surprised that there's anything left. She didn't want a divorce Tony, she wanted you to fight for her, to tell her that it was ok, that you didn't blame her. She thinks this is her fault." Voice quivered this time, he may as well have been talking about himself.

"But she didn't do anything. She knows how I feel, why would she think that?" He really couldn't see, this theory being so radically different from his own.

"She fed suicide pills to children, she killed a man, she got kidnapped. What didn't she do? She doesn't even know what she feels herself anymore, let alone what anyone else feels."

Eyes filled with grief and self-loathing, "But... What do I do, she'd gone, I let her go... What am I supposed to do?"

Jack would have laughed at Tony's echo of the question he had been asking himself for so long if it had still been possible for him to laugh at anything. "She'll come back. She will. She doesn't have anyone else. You're who she needs."

Tony saw the truth in this, but also heard the message behind his words. "You're leaving her?"

"She's not my wife Tony." She wasn't, and any closer than this would be dangerous, it was dangerous enough already, he wouldn't be here otherwise. "Don't tell her." Aimed at Kim this time, tapping his arm before he left, the man he had come to see still broken, but at least now there was hope.


	10. Michelle

Hey guys- sorry this took so long- again.  
Thanks for the reviews- much appreciated. This is fairly short but I've got the rest sort of planned out so there should be new chapters up fairly quickly. Please review- I loves reviews :D

She stared blankly into the wall, eyes fixated upon burning themselves out. She was so tired, and the hunger inside of her was consuming. By standing there, staring into the wall, depriving herself of any comfort, she could almost trick herself into believing that she was actually feeling something real, instead of an echo of a want for physical comfort that she recognised but ignored.

She's spent the morning in her lawyers office, divorce papers clasped in shaking hands so tightly that it had been an effort to pry them away. Hidden in an innocuous brown envelope, slightly creased at the edges, they could have been anything, deceptively harmless. In reality, they were the end of her world.

She's picked them up over a month ago, insurance she'd told herself. Her husband had become a ghost, a shadow that no longer responded to her in any way. They'd talked, but his voice was either heavy with weariness of thick with anger. Nothing she said got through to him, and nights of eating take away alone in the front room and falling asleep in front of the television, waiting for him, were tearing at her. She tried, patiently praying he'd come back to her, would find her on the couch and take her back. But instead she spent morning after morning waking up with cramp and shivering in the coldness of another night spent alone.

Automatically, she had presumed that he was cheating on her, not because that was what she thought, but because that was what she had expected since the first morning she had woken up with her fingers lost in his dark hair and his eyes regarding her with tears buried in them. More often than not, she'd find him asleep in their room, instinct driving him there in his exhaustion when he was unable to do anything else.

Tear stained face would rub against him as she joined him for a few hours, and although she'd wake to his arm about her, it was more through habit than anything else. Misery grew, and although there was hope, a new job away from CTU, she had needed something to draw strength from. The divorce papers had given her that, although she had no intention of filling them in, they were a reassurance that there was a way out if need be, that she could just leave.

But sitting in her lawyer's office on the uncomfortably comfortable chair under the blindingly bright lights and oppressive cheeriness that seemed to want to force its way into her, the divorce papers were the last thing in the world from which she could draw strength, instead it seemed to ebb away from her into the envelope as she placed it on the black desk that so much resembled the one that used to be her husbands. Broken, if she could have described herself that would have been the only word she would have used.

But all that was hidden, a smiling front chatting with the lawyer as they discussed some ridiculously unimportant matter that Michelle wasn't even sure she listened too. She'd fled quickly, a dignified walk that suggested all was well, fingers unconsciously brushing away the tears that she was refusing to let fall.

CTU had been better, the gloom of it more acceptable to her eyes, her body more willing to function when her surroundings matched her mood. That was at least until she decided to actually do some work, a remedy to endlessly searching her mind for all her faults, for all the ways in which she failed him, a remedy for condemning herself as the evil person she inevitably was.

The first thing she did was enough to freeze her completely- leaving her staring into a wall, trying desperately to burn her eyes into it, to bring it down, to do anything because the helplessness she was drowning in was overpowering everything else, and yet still she couldn't feel anything.

This was why she should have left, should have run as fast as she could. They gave her an out, why in hell did she not take. She could have just accepted, a pension, large enough to live off, she didn't need much anyway, there was only her; she would have been ok, and she wouldn't have to go through any of this.

She hadn't seem him since she'd asked him for a divorce, he'd been all she'd seen, but she hadn't actually seen him. And she couldn't not now, not after what she'd done. She should have just left.


	11. Kim and Michelle

Umm- sorry this took so long. Been fairly busy, and just generally lazy. So here's some more, and I'll try to get the next lot up as quickly as possible. Please review. You know you want to, and it makes me smile

"You knew." Accusatory, anger masking the pain she felt at being the last on eto know, again.

No reaction, she hadn't really expected one. Dry eyes that really should have been dripping with tears staring blankly into the distance, no sign of her having even heard.

Blonde hair dancing about her face as she moved closer, not seeing anything except Michelle's supposed lack of interest, eyes flickering with anger, barely able to keep her focus as she seethed. This was Michelle's fault, all of it. He was gone, and she knew, and said nothing. Kim had thought they were close, thought she could speak to Michelle, had felt flattered that it was Michelle who had offered to show her around, recognising that her father had probably been behind this, but still appreciating the gesture.

But she had known, she had done nothing, and now he was gone. Her father, the drug addict, the hero, gone. Pulled locks of blonde hair back, it was unbrushed, hung limply in her fingers as she tucked it behind ears, emphasising tired eyes. A baby, a boyfriend in rehab, a father that was stranger to her, a life that was coming apart at the seams. It was hard, and she was tired, so tired. Anger flooded through her, false conclusions springing to her mind, blaming Michelle for everything.

Still no reaction, Michelle hadn't moved since she'd got the message, wasn't sure if she actually could. Breathing, somehow, but beyond what she could recognise. Her world had already collapsed. How could they do this to her. She already had nothing left. She'd divorced her husband after he'd given up his freedom for her, she hadn't slept in forever, couldn't close her eyes. She couldn't do this.

Kim was a million miles past anything she could comprehend.

Anger built, seething inside of her as Kim eyed the mess around her. Piles of untouched documents that ought to have been seen to, boxes of Tony's stuff that ought to have been long gone. Kim didn't see the heartbreak that accompanied these, couldn't. She had nightmares of her own. She liked babies, just had never been given one to be a mother to before. Chase tried, but movement was still painful for him. And she'd done things she wasn't sure that she could ever come to terms with, seen things she wasn't sure she could ever make sense.

The man she had killed, barely more than a boy. She'd shot him, taken away his life. He was doing the wrong thing, she knew that, but he wasn't evil, just doing his job. She couldn't blame him for that, and yet she had shot him. And then there was Nina, the source of all the things wrong with her life. And she was dead. Standing there, covered in blood, swaying with pain, her hand still steadier than Kim's, the gun she held far more lethal than her own.

Kim's pain and anger was far from insignificant, and this was blinding her to Michelle's, her friend's pain incomprehensible through her own. So, steady now, facing her supposed enemy with a calm which had been lacking as she stared into the hollow eyes of the woman who had killed her mother. Fingers itch, desperate to fasten around her neck, wanting to drain her anger into Michelle, pain encompassing everything she can feel.

And she lets them, letting go, anything else would be too hard. Fingernails digging into skin, shaking her, trying to draw a reaction.

She did. A startled gasp of pain, more at the fact that someone could get that close to her without her noticing than anything else. Shaking Kim away instinctively, reflexes still sharp from repeated practise sessions that were a way of controlling herself, the way of maintaining her front, of keeping everything locked up.

Kim was on the floor before she even knew what happened, the soft warmth of blood under her fingernails matching the bitter taste spreading through her mouth as her teeth pierced flesh. She rubbed her hands across her face, spreading the blood already there in short finger trails.

"He's gone." Voice shook She ignored it, forced herself to hate, ignoring those eyes that were so very reminiscent of her own. "He's gone and you knew. He's on heroin again, and you knew." Hate wasn't so hard to find after all.

"Yes." Too tired, couldn't fight, couldn't pretend. This was too hard, it had to be her fault, everything else was, so this had to be too. Removing her knee from Kim's back, fingers surprised at the warmth they found at her neck, she had supposed that her blood, like the rest of her, would be cold.

"And you did nothing?" Voice was angry now, so very angry. Hatred was there, overpowering. This was her fault.

"No." Soft, almost drowned my the soft buzzing of the ventilation system. Nothing else, what else was there that she could say. She had known, and she had done nothing. Tears, just one at first, as she slowly fell apart, a million pieces shattering as she no longer had the strength to hold them together.

Kim's response was bitten back as she saw a single tear streak down Michelle's face, dragging a caking of make up with it, leaving a blackened stain as evidence of its existence. Others came, and anger melted. This was Michelle, it was hardly her fault. She was trying, trying so hard, it wasn't her fault.

She came willingly into Kim's arms, this more than anything proving to Kim just how broken she was. Gripping to her tightly, the similarity in there situations making Kim thank God that she hadn't ended up in Michelle's position.

Clothes were no longer able to hide the weight loss as Kim held her upright, uncontrollable sobs shaking her as burning tears fell into Kim's hair.


	12. A letter from Jack

_A/N- ok, so its been ages again- very sorry. But hey- 2 for 1  
Kita- glad you liked it- the bit you were confused on should probably be explained in these chapters  
Anon- don't be chicken- I'm pretty much a newbie too- just write far too much  
Bluenose- thank you.  
As always- please leave reviews- and yell at me if there's something you think I'm doing wrong/want me to include._

Kim left a calmer Michelle with assurances that everything was going to be ok, which frankly she didn't believe, and which came through clearly in her voice.

Michelle nodded at her, recognising the hollowness in her voice, but appreciating the sentiment.

Kim watched her for a second, uncertain of what to say, but Michelle had had enough time to compose herself, and nodded Kim out. Bowing her head slightly, Kim slid herself out of the door, but not before removing a slightly crumpled piece of paper from her pocket.

"He…Ummm…This is yours." Guiltily she escaped, realising now why her father had left it for Michelle, why it was so important that she got it.

Unfolding the paper in her hands gave her a new focus, something to take her mind off the message on the computer that she knew she'd eventually have to face, but nevertheless was happy to avoid, if only for a few minutes. She immediately recognised Jack's loopy scrawl, having spent countless hours trying to decipher his reports over the years.

It was Jack all over, brief and to the point, harshly accurate as he apologised for leaving her. Something in that amused her, Jack Bauer was apologising for leaving her. A man who she hated was apologising for leaving her as if they were an old married couple, instead of two agents drowning in circumstances so similar that such a letter was required.

But his words she found herself agreeing with, it was what he needed, a new start away from here, away from all the pain locked up in this building. It was something she desperately wanted for herself, but she wasn't quite ready to let go yet.

His final sentence, in a manner so appropriate to Jack, was completely redundant. "Tell Kim I'm sorry and that I love her." In other words, don't tell her I'm on heroin again.

Michelle tried to picture herself explaining to Kim that Jack had ridden off into the sunset to start a new life. Jack knew that there was no way in hell that she would've been able to pull that off, and even if she had, there was no way Kim would've bought it. But he said, knowing that Kim would find the letter and read it. A final attempt at an explanation he was too afraid to attempt in person.

After reading it several times she pocketed it, not wanting to let her final link with the world fade. Still shaking slightly, breath still ragged from her loss of control, she turned back to her computer screen, fingers idly playing with the stinging in her neck, trying to figure out what in hell she was supposed to do now.


	13. Revealing the Truth

_A/N- second part- hopefully this should make things a bit clearer._

Kim emerged from the bathroom glancing around nervously, hoping no one had noticed her bloodstained face. From the few glances she got in reply from people not completely absorbed in their work, she presumed no one had noticed.

She'd gone to the bathroom partially to clean herself up, but mostly to try and decide what to do. Her father was gone, she needed to sort that out, it made no sense in her head, and yet she had to go and explain to Greg why he'd gone. She wasn't even sure where to begin.

And then there was Michelle, a greater problem even than her father. Kim had checked herself in the mirror, no serious damage had been done. The blood in her mouth was gone, and although she could feel a bruise forming in her back, it was nothing vicious, which was lucky considering the circumstances. Michelle wasn't exactly vicious, but she was very good at what she did, and escaping with a bruised back and a slight amount of blood in her mouth was extremely fortunate after having provoked her.

She was so close to a complete breakdown, and CTU was the last place that she needed to be. If nothing else, she was completely unsuited to being here, there was no way in hell that she could make the kind of calls necessary to keep CTU running. And the last place she needed to be was the place that had destroyed her marriage, how did they expect her to keep doing her job under the circumstances.

So climbing the stairs to Greg's office, Kim shot a guilty glance down to the office Michelle was hiding in. She felt bad, but Michelle couldn't stay here. She really shouldn't be here, it was destroying her, and Greg needed to know that.

Knocking on the door, she reminded herself that she had to wait for his permission to enter, hands already on the handle before she remembered that this wasn't Tony's office anymore. He called for her to come in, and the words were half out of her mouth when her jaw dropped.

The office was practically empty aside from 2 boxes sat neatly on the desk. He looked at her inquiringly, and she once again was reminded that he wasn't Tony. "What are you doing?" Gesturing at the boxes.

"This position was only ever a temporary one. I never should have got it anyway. I'm transferring back to division. Apparently it's a promotion." A slight hint of sarcasm mixed in with a large amount of self-pity that was customary for him.

"What… But who's taking over here?"

Greg looked at her strangely. "Michelle." He answered, as if it was obvious. Kim started to respond, but with a glance at his watch he cut her off. "Listen Kim, I'm late for a meeting with Brad, so whatever it is, talk to Michelle, ok." He picked up the boxes and turned to leave.

Again Kim started to protest, but not really listening to her, Greg walked past the door, only pausing for a second. Almost gone, he seemed to have second thoughts, and turned to her again. "Listen Kim, I know you're not supposed to be working tomorrow, but it might be helpful to her if you were here. It's not really fair of them to make her do this, and it might be easier if she has someone she knows she can trust. It's stupid really, they can't honestly expect her to interrogate her own husband."

And with that he left, leaving the door to crash shut behind him. Kim slowly sank inot his chair, hands finding her head as she felt control slip just a little further. Life was already complicated enough. She didn't need this.


End file.
